Shattered Memories
by Space-facade
Summary: Memories of Nick and Stephen. Angst. Reviews are treasured.


**I seem to have been foraying unusually far into threesome fic just recently. I'm sorry this is so angsty. It was written after The Episode. **

Just lately, memories had become the bane of Connor's life. Unlike Nick, he had never had a habit of dwelling on the past, preferring to forget and move on; leaving unpleasant memories dormant and undisturbed in the recesses of his brain.

When Stephen had died he had been too busy trying to hold Nick together and keep the memories from tearing him apart, to even register any of his own. But now Nick was gone too, and for the first time since the anomalies had appeared, Connor found himself well and truly alone. And he hated it.

Every time he was unoccupied or quiet, memories would come flooding back, too many of them, they overwhelmed him, and he was getting to the stage where he preferred living in the past to living in the present. This was worrying enough in itself, but what was worse was that he just couldn't bring himself to care anymore.

* * *

'_Hey, Connor mate, Nick and I are calling it a day, headed for the pub. You coming?'_

'_You, uh, you want me to come to the pub with you?'_

'_Course. Wouldn't be asking otherwise, would I?'_

'_But uh…'_

'_Jesus, Connor, you didn't think we just leave you hanging did you? After yesterday?'_

'_Uh…'_

'_Oh for Christ's sake. Look, mate, we are going to get pissed and try and forget about the latest ancient reptile and its grudge against mankind, and we want you to join us. Now, you coming or what?'_

* * *

That had been the first time Connor had had an inkling that Nick and Stephen had wanted him around for more than a bit of fun. Although he hadn't been stupid enough to presume that he would ever quite be on an equal footing with Nick in Stephen's eyes or vice versa, both men had seemed genuinely fond of him.

After that first evening in the pub, during which Connor had proved how spectacularly **badly **he handled alcohol, it seemed like every minute of free time he had was spent with them. They never did anything hugely exciting, just hung out, eating takeout, watching football and talking, sharing memories, jokes and anomaly theories; him and Stephen voicing more and more bizarre theories ('Hey Nick, d'you reckon it's true that you could blow a hole in the space-time continuum with only some talcum powder, vodka and a stalk of celery?') just to watch Nick getting more and more wound up.

And then obviously there was the whole issue of sex. And the fact that he was getting more and better than he ever had in his life. At first, he had simply turned a blind eye to the three small words that often passed between Nick and Stephen afterwards, until one day, out of the blue, Stephen merely wrapped an arm around his waist, and whispered them in his ear.

After that, Connor had known he was **well and truly lost**, a fact which was proven when he willingly watched a Leeds football game over a Star Wars marathon, just to see the smile that appeared on Stephen's face when his team won. And when he willingly ate Nick's terrible stew, because the other man always looked so ridiculously **proud** of himself for having actually cooked.

Of course, the one time that had clinched in his mind how well and truly fucked he was that awful, awful evening when the CMU had decided to host an auction in order to raise money to fund certain departments. Obviously the objects to be auctioned couldn't possibly be anything simple. Connor had laughed his head off when Stephen and Nick had stomped back home one evening, grudgingly admitting that they, along with certain other members of the department, were going to be auctioned off to the highest bidders. At least he'd been laughing his head off until they'd told him that they signed him up too…and what they had made him **wear**…

* * *

'_I'm not wearing that. There is __**no way**__ I am wearing that.'_

'_Come on, Conn, you'll look fine. Better than fine, you'll look great.'_

'_Yeah, come on Connor, me an' Stephen both have to wear 'em.'_

'_But it's…tight…and black…and…tight.'_

'_It's leather, Connor, have you never __**worn **__leather before?'_

'_At least try it on…if it looks as bad as you're predicting, we'll try and get you summat else, okay?'_

* * *

Why he had fallen for that, he had no idea. It must have been the horribly persuasive combination of Nick's startlingly blue eyes and Stephen's pout, which, despite the fact it probably wouldn't have looked out of place on a five year old, nevertheless did its intended job extremely well. Before he'd known what was happening, he had been in the bathroom, wriggling into tight leather pants that fit like a glove, and a t-shirt that was far too tight to ever belong to a straight guy.

He had shut his eyes, avoided looking in the mirror, and exited the bathroom. When he opened his eyes, he found Nick and Stephen clad in the same attire, although Nick's t-shirt was grey, and Stephen's was blue, nicely complimenting his own, which was an warm shade of forest green.

He had been so completely nervous then, sure he could never look as rugged as Nick or as damn sexy as Stephen (the man had obviously been born to wear leather), but when they saw him, Nick had growled a Scottish sounding growl low in his throat, and Stephen had fluttered his eyelashes and pretended to swoon.

The evening had been terrible, but somehow, watching Nick and Stephen strut their stuff on stage had been worth all of the hassle and embarrassment, and what happened when they had gotten home after their respective dates, well, that had **definitely **been worth it. Safe to say, neither the shirts, nor the leather pants had been wearable again…

* * *

'_God, guys where did you__** find **__this?'_

'_It's a Collector's Edition, Conn, the internet, where else?'_

'_But God, I've wanted one of these __**forever**__, it must have cost a __**fortune**__.'_

'_Yes, uh, well…'_

* * *

That had been the night of his birthday. For some reason he hadn't been expecting them to actually buy him anything, but they'd surprised him with an original Star Wars light sabre, both becoming strangely evasive when he asked about the price.

It had turned out to be possibly the best evening of his life. Stephen had cooked, steak and chips, Connor's favourite, and both of them had sat through several directors cut sci-fi films. And when they had finally gone to bed, Connor had whispered those three little words again, confident that neither could hear him, and had gotten the shock of his life, when he received two replies, muttered in sleepy voices, the words hanging in the cool night air.

In fact, there was no possibly about it. It **had **been the best night of his life.

* * *

'_Sorry, mate, I'm doing this one.'_

'_What?...Stephen…Stephen…STEPHEN, NO! NO!'_

* * *

And then…then things had all gone so very wrong. Helen's little revelation had shattered their peace, leaving Nick unable to look Stephen in the eye, and Connor torn between the two. He had thought that things couldn't get any worse, but then Stephen, the stupid, stupid**, brave** man had gone and got himself killed. Sacrificed himself to save Nick, to save Connor, to save the whole bloody world.

There was no doubt about it, Stephen's death had killed Nick. He was still walking, still talking, but there was nothing left there of the man that Connor had known, and still loved. He was just a walking shell. Nick drove the rest of the team away with sharp words, and barbed retorts, and the only sign left of what they had once had was the fact that Connor was the only one Nick let in. Connor was the one who drove Nick home, who let him cry on his shoulder, and fall apart in his arms. He was the only one who saw the damage that had been done to Nick, and with hindsight, probably the only thing that had kept the man going.

* * *

'_This matters…don't know why, but it does…so you have to find out what it means, okay?'_

'_It's on you now.'_

'_No, we can do this together, we've always done it together!'_

_No…no…not this time.'_

* * *

And those were the final words of Professor Nicholas Cutter. Because less than a month after losing Stephen, he had lost Nick too. Two good men lost to the will of a woman who cared for nothing but her own ends. Connor was sure that he must feel hatred for Helen, knew that according to the rules of human nature, he should want to tear her head off her shoulders and use it as a football. But he didn't. He felt nothing for Helen. What was even the point anymore? Nothing he did would bring Stephen and Nick back, and he didn't think he was capable of feeling closure. All he could feel was the massive emptiness inside him, a hole that had once been filled with blue eyes, a ridiculous pout, terrible stew and lazy Sunday mornings.

The empty ache inside him was backed up by sharp, lance like stabs of pain that ran through him and threatened to take his breath away. Whenever Nick's final words ran through his head, a sword of grief ran through his heart. He never forgot the pain, so it seemed grossly unfair that he should keep being reminded of it so sharply. The worst time had been when he had finally managed to close an anomaly. It had been such a huge step forward, and the joy at the discovery had rushed through him in a wave of adrenaline. He had swung round, grin splitting his face, to share this with Nick and Stephen, and…and no-one had been there. And then it had finally hit him that no-one was ever going to be there again. They were both gone. He was the only one left, the last man standing.

Nick and Stephen had meant different things to each member of the team. Nick had been the backbone of their little gang in so many ways, and Stephen had been Nick's backbone. Now, without both of them there for support, Connor had at first, found it hard to see how the team could possibly continue to function.

That is, until Lester had introduced Captain Becker, and then later Danny Quinn. Replacements. The truth was they did their jobs nearly as well as Nick and Stephen had, and the horrible truth had hit Connor. We all imagine that when we are gone we will be irreplaceable. That everyone will miss us and cry for us, and that at work they will be lost without our skills and talents. The reality was very different. Cutter and Stephen had simply been replaced. The rest of the team, though they hadn't forgotten Nick and Stephen, not by a long stretch, had appeared to accept the two newcomers. But no matter how he tried, Connor couldn't. Quinn and Becker did the same jobs, spouted the same instructions, but the harsh fact of it was, Becker wasn't Stephen, and Danny Quinn was not Nick.

And Connor could not get past that. When he woke up in a bed that still smelt, however faintly, of the two of them, he remembered. When he showered in a bathroom whose shelves still sported Nick's shower gel, he remembered. And when he saw the photo of the three of them on the hall table, he realised he was never going to forget.

Becker and Quinn might be able to fill the holes in the team, but they could never, **never **fill the holes in Connor's heart.


End file.
